The Impaired
by Fatal Fandomer
Summary: *spoilers for AoU* He was sentenced to live amongst the mortals whom he had wronged during the battle of New York. He was seemingly brought back from the dead. And both cross paths with a young girl that had prayed for an angel. A story about the broken, the damaged, and the innocent.
1. Introduction: Age Of The Damaged

**This is a mixture of a 'fix it' fic and an AU.**

 **I will have another warning about SPOILERS FOR AGE OF ULTRON of you haven't seen it yet, although there's only once major spoiler in this chapter/introduction.**

 **anyway, I hope you enjoy.**

 **With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

I hate funerals.

They're just so... _depressing_. And everyone always has the same pitiful expression they likely practice in the mirror, prepared for days like these, but then again nobody was prepared for aliens to rain down from a giant wormhole above New York. No one was prepared for so many to die so suddenly. No one was prepared for the destruction. And no one was certainly prepared for superheroes.

But everyone had that pity slapped onto their face, every single one aimed at me and my sister. I had stood beside her the whole time, gripping a pudgy finger as Mum's coffin was lowered into the hole in the ground; the vicar's elderly chapped lips murmured holy words. But I heard nothing. I couldn't hear the contraption clinking as it lowered the coffin, couldn't hear the crow that had perched itself in a nearby pine tree, couldn't hear my sister's quiet sobs.

There was silence. An empty silence that made the loss of my mother all the more painful. My eardrums had been ruptured by a blast during the battle of New York, the doctors explaining to my sister it was likely I would never hear again. The first few days I had cried and screamed, but even with my throat pulsating feverishly I still heard nothing, and eventually I slipped into passive quietness. The doctors also said that Naomi and I would have to learn sign language, though I loathed it, it was the only way we could communicate with each other.

New York was cleaned up and slathered with new buildings and it was as if nothing had happened. But the people that had perished left a hole, and so a memorial was built in Central Park. No one could forget the aliens though, or the superheroes who had fought for New York, figurines and comics made for them.

I had awoken from the daydream to find my sister handing me a browning trowel, fingers shaking uncontrollably. I looked up, seeing the tears streaming down her rather slim face, golden hair tied up as it usually was when she worked as a waitress, only a little more straw-like. I wished I had smiled at her, or something comforting, but my lips had remained as straight as a stick.

I had carefully taken the trowel from her and scooped up a lump of soil and dumped it onto the lowered grave, nothing really elegant in the action. Afterwards when everyone had exaggerated their condolences and taken their pity faces with them, me and Naomi stood in front of mum's grave, the gravestone not yet placed, leaving just an unmarked mound of mud.

We stood holding hands, having nothing to say.

Naomi lead the way back to home later on, the streets dampened and still having workmen fixing the cracks in the roads and pavements. We both didn't need to speak. We had already felt our differences chained together since Mum died, realising we needed to protect each other more than ever. As we walked, I felt tears accumulate in my eyes, having to blink several times in an attempt to halt them from falling, the pain in my chest was unbearable but I had to ignore it, I had to appear strong for Naomi's sake, we couldn't both crumble.

The day ended like any other, Naomi microwaving some macaroni cheese, eating it slowly and silently before I brushed my teeth and got changed into my nightgown. The only difference was that Mum didn't slink into my room to read me a bedtime story. The sheets were pulled up to my nose as I stared at the ceiling.

I tried to memorise what Mum looked like, (Dad dying when I was too young to make out nothing but swirly blobs), but all I could picture was when she once came home with a gash along her abdomen, like she'd been sliced with a knife. That had been terrifying, especially when acidic tears slipped down her face as she sewed it up. She said it had been a mugging gone bad but she refused to call the police.

It was a horrible memory, and I wanted to swat it aside and think of a better one, but I couldn't.

 _If anyone is listening, angel or god I don't care, please send someone to make Naomi smile again, a superhero if you have one, she'd like that._

I waited in the dark.

With my prayer unanswered, I rolled over into a tight ball and fell sleep feeling as if my heart had been ripped out.

* * *

 _Three Years Later_

* * *

The cell still did not look any better since the last time he had been thrown into it's rotten jaws, nor had it lost its insatiable appetite.

He had underestimated Thor, somehow worming the truth out of him that he was not Odin, the oaf seemingly learning a few things from his visit to Earth once more, among his _new friends_. The tables had turned, true. And once again he ignored the other prisoners that greeted his presence.

That was, until a few days later guards came for him. They cuffed his hands, and he would have retorted with some witted reply, but that was put a stop to quickly, a witch with cold charcoal eyes sent to sew his lips shut with the strongest thread they possessed. It had been torture, the fine needle levitating in front of his eyes, glinting, before it was roughly punctured through the soft flesh of his bottom lip, and it took all his will not to let a shriek to escape.

Blood dripped and seeped into his simple green shirt, creating just a black mess. Once it was all over, and his thrashing stopped as he was too exhausted to fight back anymore; the witch left with a coldness but sick thrill in her eyes. And he vowed he would never forget her face, stewing on revenge as blood still poured from his sewn lips, puffed and bruised.

He had fallen back against the wall of the cell, body tingling as he allowed tears to spill from his eyes. How long would it take before he finally admitted that he was broken and lost once more? Like the terrible day he had fallen into the abyss that felt a thousand years ago, the same day he had met the monster that would plague his mind every second of every day and would haunt him way past death itself.

He knew Thanos would do so much worse than sewing his lips shut, oh so much worse.

And it was a matter of time before he came looking for him, for failing to capture the tesseract and The Avengers destroying the Chitauri army.

It was a matter of time before he was shown what truly meant pain.

* * *

He remembered the pain most of all. How those bullets just sheered straight through his flesh, it felt like hundreds though it must have only been maybe four or five. He was fast. But not fast enough for those bullets. The old man and that kid was worth it though, and how many could say his last words weren't memorable?

He knew Wanda would have been in agony, alone, torn from the inside out and with their parents gone too...

You could understand why it was such a surprise that he woke up drowsily in a vibrant white room, not even an ounce of pain tainting his skin. That did not stop the world spinning, and although he preferred his rapid ways...taking it slow seemed the most pleasurable option.

As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a man standing beside what he assumed to be the door, though it was smeared in the same bright white as the room. The man wore a knowing smile, hands clasped in front of him, and suddenly the old man didn't seem so old compared to this one in a basic suit.

"The whole dying thing can be a bit draining, believe me, I know it first hand." The man said humorously, and all he could do was raise a silver-tinted dark eyebrow. "It really does knock you on your backside for a while, but don't worry, we will get information to your sister once we assess you."

At that Pietro sat up, blue eyes never blinking as he gazed at the smiling man.

"You can assess me all you want, _after_ I see my sister." He replied firmly, somehow finding a hint of American in his accent since he'd _died_.

The man only nodded his head.

"Understood"


	2. Small Spaces

**Thank you all for the phenomenal first response to this! I wasn't expecting such a fast reply to it, and I really appreciate it so I had to write another chapter.**

 **From now on I doubt there will be many spoilers, but if you've read the first chapter it doesn't really matter now.**

 **With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

Pietro had had enough as he paced that infernal white room.

It had been two days, his _recovery_ apparently was more rapid than they had expected; he wasn't sure whether to laugh at the irony or be thankful for his enhancement. Neither could lessen his agitation, the room nostalgic of the concrete cell Strucker had shoved him and Wanda in, the separation just as frustrating as it had been then.

As that agent had explained, Dr Cho had used the same machine that had created The Vision to heal him, repairing the human tissue punctured by the bullets, making it near unnoticeable. The agent refused to reveal how they managed to bring him back from the dead, but truthfully if it didn't have any side effects he couldn't careless. He was alive, and so he was still able to protect Wanda.

Pietro had sprinted around the room in a blue blue thirty-one more times before the door opened, his speed grinding to a halt as a weeping Wanda ran at him. He greeted her first, pulling her into the air as they embraced, tightening their grip on each other as the separated bond woven together again.

"I thought I'd lost you. I died." Wanda choked into his neck, but he could only laugh. She pulled back, the smile wiped from her face. "How can you laugh?" She accused, but he could only shake his head as his hands cupped with hers.

"Little sister, the only time you have ever lost me is when you started bleeding from-"

Wanda slapped him on the arm, playfully, but the warning was there to shut him up.

"And you, my brother wonder why women flee at the sight of you." She retorted, her voice never so beautifully rhythmic in his ears until now, and all he could do was grin and clutch her hands with a gentle squeeze.

"They're all too slow, you're the only one that has kept up so far."

He managed a smile and a short breath of a laugh out of her, the two embracing once more as a hand held her head closer to him, the bristles of his short stubbles tickling her chin, something she welcomed as the agony from that day in Sokovia mended slowly. The agent who had collected her had been an unknown, and he had disappeared sharply after news The Avengers would be joining them to oversee the _kid avengers_ as they liked to nickname them.

"Come on, the agent said you're free to be with the rest of us now." She said, dragging Pietro towards the door even though he wore relief as his shoulders sagged, loosing their tension as they speedily (well slow for Pietro) walked along the long large corridors of the new Avengers building, all the sparkling glass windows and the general white newness to it all had grown on Wanda, but for Pietro he was in awe as his electric blue eyes glided over the corridor.

Soon enough Wanda lead him to what he assumed to be a training room, what with the lack of windows and a huge range of metallic structures that were built up to the high ceiling. The room itself was gigantic, at least as large as a cull-de-sac, perhaps bigger, though his eyes couldn't tear away from a swooping form with booming metal wings. The form, a man, made a swift but angular landing to the ground a few metres in front of Wanda and Pietro, the man having to skip a little to regain his balance on the ground.

"Pietro, right? Scarlet told us about you, along with Vision over there. What you did in Sokovia...you saved a lot of lives." The dark-skinned man said, holding out a hand for Pietro to shake as his bird-like wings folded inwards to be safely locked away in the compartment strapped to his back. Pietro stared at the hand, face hardened while his eyes flashed with an uncertainty.

The man drew his hand away, shaking the rejection off flawlessly, though Wanda did not have the same reaction. She turned to him, dark eyes filled with concern as she attempted to move towards him, but instinctively he took a step back. He could see the action hurt her. But truthfully, he craved that small white room, the four walls far more comforting than the cull-de-sac room with its windowless walls and strange men with metal wings.

"Pietro?" She questioned.

He gulped, eyes averting to the floor.

"I haven't been assessed yet," he confessed. "I should have been assessed before you brought me here."

"If there was something wrong they would know, _I_ would know." She persuaded as she placed a smooth hand on his cheek, his head leaning into the tender touch. It was true, she would feel something wrong if there was, even if SHIELD's scientists couldn't. But this felt different, it wasn't physical or internal, it felt just...as if he was dissociated from it, and yet it lingered in his mind and replayed itself over and over again to torment him.

" _Not this_."

Were the only words to leave his lips as a heavy sigh, head leaning further into his twin sister's hand.

* * *

He was slammed to the floor with a loud crack before the shimmering golden throne, the throne he had twice sat upon as king. Now it was owned by a gloomy Thor, the mighty Thor with his all mighty hammer Mjölnir placed at his feet. Thor's stone-hardened expression faltered at the tormented sight of Loki's sewn mouth; his lips had only just begun to lose the magenta bruises, the thread grotesque with infection.

The new king stood, hands clenched at his sides, but the fury was clearly written in his whitening knuckles.

"Whom ever ordered this punishment upon the prisoner Loki did so without _my_ consent, and therefore have made themselves a traitor of Asgard."

Loki pictured those charcoal eyes, and the devilish goddess that owned them.

"Whoever they are they will be found, and brought before me to be questioned and sentenced." He boomed, and Loki could not help but see Odin in place of Thor. "Until such time, I have sentenced Loki to Earth where he will be shown the damage he has done. As a cell in the depths of Asgard have not shown him the horror of his actions." Thor added, eyes fleeting to Loki for all of a second before they returned to his captivated audience.

Loki had never heard the throne room so quiet, and although his loathsome green eyes never left Thor, he could see heads turning to one another in shock. He too was shocked. And frustrated. No matter how much he despised that cell, facing the wrath of mortals was far less delightful.

"Lady Sif has volunteered to accompany Loki during his time on Earth, the length of the punishment is not yet decided. But it shall begin _immediately_."

With that the men and women of the court were fed and left to do other things, while Loki remained kneeling in a mess of bones, hands cuffed too tightly for his liking.

Once everyone (even Loki's guards) were gone, Thor stormed forward and lifted Loki effortlessly to his feet. Thor's blue eyes were so ferociously enraged that an involuntary shiver ran through Loki's body, one he would never admit to.

"Brother or murderer, whoever did this will be punished." He hissed, but Loki's blank expression spoke nothing.

A servant girl shuffled hastily towards the two, brown skirts just above her ankles which was needed as the girl nearly tripped over her own feet. When she was closer, Loki saw her large eyes were a calming lilac, innocent but knowledged.

"Your grace?" She squeaked.

"Yes?"

"It was my sister, Dagny, she was the one who sewn the threads with magic." She explained, lilac eyes fixated to anywhere but the gaze of the two men before her.

 _Dagny_. He would need to remember that name.

"Thank you, but how do you know this to be true? Do you have proof of this accusation?"

Thor was learning. Seeking concrete answers before a sentence, how intelligent of him.

"She was gloating of her actions at yesterday's sunset. She was not sorry for it." The girl added, shame burning her cheeks. "If I may your grace, but my sister is cold-hearted, always has been and made worse when we were taught the ways of magic. I had hoped with the new dawn, after the mourning of Queen Frigga and the Allfather-" her eyes flashed to Loki for only a second. "She would change her troublesome ways, but has not." She said with obvious disgust, although meekness at betraying her own blood before the king.

"She will be tried fairly, I can assure you."

"Thank you, your grace. And in good faith I can remove the thread." She offered rather eagerly, but Thor sent the girl away with a wave of his hand and a polite decline. She had been slightly crestfallen, believing to have been mistaken for accompanying her sister's act, but it was clear that this girl was no evil witch, unlike her sister.

But could Thor spite him anymore? The thread pulled the flesh of his lips every time he _breathed_. Any relief of the pain would be welcoming, even if the girl was a novice in magic.

"Sif is an ally of SHIELD, and SHIELD will put you in contact with those who lost relatives during your madness. If Sif reports any troubling actions on your part, your punishment will be made more severe, including these barbaric threads if you force my hand." Thor warned, the seriousness in his voice and posture were so opposite from the war-driven oaf that attempted child play with the monstrous Jotuns. Even now, his stomach churned just to be connected to that race, the disgust put there by Odin, something he could _never_ forgive.

 _Let him have his way_ , Loki thought, _perhaps provoking Sif will be the only entertaining part of this sentence_.

* * *

A draft of coldness breezed over my exposed body, making me shiver as I groggily opened my eyes, my sister's hands mimicking rapidly in my face.

 **Get up, we're having the day off**

That was a relief. Normally my tutor, Miss Crow, would come to the house and teach me all the lessons I would do at school if I wasn't hearing-impaired. Miss Crow was the most impatient woman in the universe, even starved dogs had more patience than her. She had been my tutor for the last two years, and honestly I missed school every session.

Miss Crow was similar to her own name, happily named for the dark nest-like hair atop her head, and dark beady eyes that squinted at you even if you actually answered correctly. She was strict, uncaring, and had a general lack for human kindness. So a day off from her squawks were truly welcoming, even if it would be an awkward day with Naomi.

Naomi shook her head, and stomped off out of my room to likely make breakfast.

My sister was the _second_ most impatient person in the universe.

I sighed and clumsily climbed out of bed (almost breaking my neck from getting tangled in the sheets on the floor) and changed into a white t-shirt and denim dungarees, muddy trainers shoved onto my feet as they were two sizes too small. A mirror had been fixed into the door of my wardrobe, and I glanced at the messy reflection with half-closed eyes. My short golden hair was a mess: one side pressed against my cheek while the other was a crazed wheat field. I roughly massaged my fingers through both, hoping to find some balance but eventually gave up and shrugged the untidiness off, teetering down the stairs to meet my sister in the kitchen.

Even though it had already been three years, the move to the 'new' house was still a little odd, it being so much larger than the old apartment in the city. It just seemed to vast and empty with only the two of us, but for whatever reason Naomi decided it was best to move out of the city altogether. I never understood why, I mean, Naomi had to take a bus over the bridge every single day to go to work, and even then walk another half an hour.

Distance had grown between both of us. I thought when mum died we would become closer, but Naomi shut me out most of time and barely put up with me. It was lonely for both of us, and it made life just that much more duller.

I hopped up onto a stool and waited for the burnt toast to pop out of the toaster beside Naomi, who stood with her back opposite me, staring out the window into space. I started tapping a finger on the counter top, a rhythmic _tap, tap, tap_... _tap, tap, tap_. But Naomi just snapped her head around and I instantly stopped, head sinking into my hand as I sighed again in boredom; boredom was common for me.

Although I never heard it, Naomi flashed around again, but her eyes looked past me towards the front door. My eyebrow creased, an apprehensive expression on her face, her short temper making more sense. It was uncommon for someone to knock on the door, of course there was Miss Crow and maybe the postman from time to time, or a neighbour who had lost a dog or cat. However, this felt different, I could sense it just by how Naomi glanced at me protectively before motioning me to wait where I was as she walked cautiously to the door.

I couldn't hide my curiousness, spinning the stool around and leaning forward a little so that the front door was in view. Naomi reached for the door handle, noticed me leaning and shoved a hand towards me to make me move but I refused. She shook her head again, curls of golden hair bouncing, and opened the door to greet the person.

The caution was wiped from her face and was replaced with a small smile, a hand disappearing to shake the stranger's hand. They were talking, my sister and the stranger (who I still couldn't see), Naomi's thin lips moving with words. They seemed to talk for eternity. And then Naomi suddenly stepped aside and allowed the stranger in, and I have to say I was disappointed that the stranger appeared like an older-looking businessman. His warm smile was welcoming, and he didn't seem so intimidating like most business men I had seen walking the city streets.

As soon as his eyes caught mine he waved, and I awkwardly waved back in response.

This guy was strange.

Naomi said something quickly to him, the man nodding his head, and then Naomi turned to me and mimed:

 **Change of plan. I have to speak to this man privately. Can you go do homework or something in your room?**

I pouted with accompanied puppy eyes, but Naomi didn't budge so I unwillingly nodded my head and slowly made my way past her and the stranger and clambered up to my room.

Whoever he was he had made her smile, so it must have been someone she knew extremely well. Still, a day out to the park was better than homework...that was something I could hold against him.


	3. Godly Guests

**Sorry this chapter is a little later than I'd hoped, but it's done.**

 **thank you for all the reviews, favourites and follows!**

 **AnonymousNinja - Erin is thirteen at the moment, I was meant to mention it in some way but forgot to.**

 **This chapter is mainly about Erin and Loki, but I promise Pietro will be in the next chapter.**

 **Also, I'm not sure many one caught it, but this is kind of like 'see no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil'.**

 **With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

"I will make this plain: you do anything to endanger me or the mortals, I will not hesitate to kill you, no matter what Thor says."

 _My, my Sif_. You sound more like the mortals with every visit. He thought humorously, but kept the thought to himself as cracking a smile was too painful with the threads still firmly locking his lips shut. His emerald eyes focused on the gaping archway in the Bifrost, waiting patiently for Heimdel to slide his elegant but deadly sword into the centre, activating the golden-encrusted machine.

He hoped that he would not suffer the same likeness with his second venture to Earth.

* * *

I resorted to reading through the whole of Macbeth as I waited for Naomi to finish speaking with the stranger. Miss Crow was introducing me to Shakespeare plays, reading through Hamlet with her in the sessions and Macbeth for homework. I enjoyed the plays themselves, if I could understand a word that was going on, but they were intriguing once Miss Crow explained what each scene was.

I was about to write down some analysis when a shadow caught the corner of my eye. I looked up, but it was the stranger instead of my sister, and he seemed a little apologetic. He must have knocked. He pointed at the bed, a questioning look on his face, I nodded and pushed the pile of papers and books out of the way, never hearing the thump as they hit the floor. It didn't matter anyway, the books were battered enough as it was, and the papers were just scraps and drafts.

The stranger sat down on the edge, the bed pulled down further by his weight. He slipped a hand into his jacket and pulled out a notebook and pen. I prayed that he wasn't a councillor, I was sick of sitting on uncomfortable chairs with a rich-looking man or woman trying to decipher whether I was depressed or disturbed. But I was relieved when the stranger scribbled on the notebook and handed it to me.

 **Hi, I'm Phil**

I looked back to Phil, imagining his voice being cheerful yet maybe gruff, or maybe squeaky. I could never tell but it was a past time to guess a person's voice. My face was blank as I returned to the notebook and wrote down my reply with my own pen.

 **Hello, I'm Erin**

Miss Crow hated when anyone shortened hello to hi and had drilled it into my brain. Phil read it, no surprise that he looked as if he already knew that. What made me nervous was that I didn't know who he was; Naomi had never mentioned him, and Mum talked about work from time to time. From what I remembered, she didn't talk much about her coworkers though, maybe he was one of them. I decided to test it.

 **Did you know my mum?**

 _Phil_ studied the words for a long time and simply nodded his head, but there was no whispered condolence or a pity facade.

 **We worked together a few times. But I'm here to talk to you about something else. Some people we work with have given us...visitors. And your sister as agreed for them to stay here, but only if you agree too.**

They were very odd choice of words, careful even, and it was clear he wasn't used to writing and likely knew how to twist things with his voice instead. I didn't like how he wrote visitors either, visitors from where? A prison? Another country? Another solar system for all I knew. But I decided to humour him, at least.

 **Can I meet them before I decide?**

Phil shifted a little, not noticeable, but he hesitated with the pen and would not meet my eyes.

 **That can be arranged**

Then it was settled, I needed to meet these so called visitors first. Just because Naomi agreed, didn't mean I would want more strangers around, especially in the house. Solitude had grown on me, left with only my own thoughts and sure sometimes it became just chaos in my head, but what else was I to do? I was stuck like this. It wasn't as if I couldn't do anything though, in fact without including the sweeter sounds, it meant I didn't hear bad sounds either, the ones that make you fearful, or give you ideas and desires that are planted by whispers of others.

I had read too much of Macbeth.

It was hours later when finally the visitors arrived. Phil, Naomi and I had been seated in the living room. The room was by far the smallest, well not including the bathroom, and had this cosy grandma's cottage feel to it. The walls held hazelnut-wood beams and faded grey wall plaster, but the small fireplace was a warming sight even when the black soot and burnt charcoal wood held no spark.

Phil's head shot up first, cautious, and moved towards the door while Naomi followed suit. I didn't join them, lying on my front before the fireplace with my legs kicking in the air, reading a book about evil fairies and heroic elves. I didn't hear the arguments at the front door, or the loud clunk of armour as one of the visitors walked in and inspected the rooms. Feeling the presence of this person I turned my head and nearly jumped in shock. The woman was pretty, prideful in her posture, and long silks of black hair trailing below her shoulders towards her waist. But it was the glistening armour and crimson leather that made me the most frightened.

The woman stared at me. Not coldly or cruelly, but with a lack of _something_ that I couldn't place. She addressed me with her mouth moving as if she was shouting, and I swore for a moment the way she talked may have cured my loss of hearing, but I was wrong, and just gazed blindly at her. Confusion warped her beautiful features, and again attempted to talk to me, and in the end I rolled my eyes and pointed at an ear. Still the woman didn't understand and I was too lazy to write it down.

I pointed at my ear again, and this time shook my head.

But still a lack of understanding remained on her features, so in frustration I snatched Phil's notebook off the pristine snot-coloured sofa nearby and quickly scrawled words onto it. Lifting it up lazily, the woman in armour squinted her eyes to read, finely eyebrows creased, but she tilted her head down a little in an apology. Happy everything was cleared up, I wavered a hand towards the sofa, and the woman sat down gracefully, rather impressive with all that armour.

She glanced around the room, eyes still hardened but now curiosity glinted them slightly. I shrugged and went back to my book. Which lasted all of a minute as the woman roughly pounded my shoulder. I protested silently, standing up with a hand rubbing the mark where her hand had impacted with my arm, though the woman seemed apologetic of the roughness. Did she really not know her own strength?

The woman's head turned, mine soon copying as I saw a second curiously strange visitor. Only this one wore chains. The glinting metal the colour of copper that wrapped around his milk-skinned hands, and I could almost imagine the clinking the chains made as they bumped together. The stranger was no less taller than the woman, and no less oddly dressed with a plain jade green fabric as a shirt, and possibly woollen brown trousers, though neither fabric seemed to be one I knew for certain. He looked fragile. If people could look fragile. Long waves of blackened hair, reminding me of the story of Black Beauty, and how the black shine shimmered when caught in sunlight. Only the visitor's was more raggedy, like his hair hadn't seen a brush in years.

But it was his lips.

These plump purplish fleshy _things_ that were puffed by infected holes. They truly frightened me, the grotesque colour and how they never parted as his green eyes glared at me with hatred, as if I had cheated him in some way.

Suddenly the woman became my favourite out of the two, at least showing compassion in an odd way.

Naomi appeared behind the frightening visitor, beside Phil whose eyes never left the visitor as he lead him towards the woman. When there was space, Naomi instantly rushed to me, arms protectively holding me close to her as the visitor was pushed onto the sofa, pain squeezing his eyes for second before they rested loathingly on me once more. I didn't like him in the slightest. I leaned into my sister's arms, my eyes avoided the visitor in chains and hoped Phil's were more appeasing.

It was a _long_ time before anyone made a move to speak.

Not-so-surprisingly it was the woman who spoke first, and as it was directed at me my sister nominated herself to stand in front of me to translate her words.

 **My name is Lady Sif. And with me I bring a war criminal Loki. As part of his sentence he is to spend time with a family whom lost something precious in the Battle of New York. Son of Coul-**

There was a pause as Lady Sif tried to find the correct words.

' **Put me in touch' with you and your sister. I can assure you now. While I am here no harm will come to you and your sister. I only ask that you never interact with Loki without me or Coulson supervising. The judgement has been set upon your choice.**

With that Lady Sif had finished, and suddenly Loki's eyes were like the Devil's.

 _He_ was the reason mum died. _He_ killed all those people. And now they wanted us to _house_ him?

It was my turn to glare at Loki. I shook my head vigorously, eyes streaming with fresh tears as I blamed the fragile visitor for the death of my mum and everything after. I didn't want him here. Didn't want him anywhere near me. I was angry Naomi even considered it.

I got up and rushed up to my room, slamming my door fruitlessly as there was no lock and curled up in the covers of my bed.

* * *

"I'm sorry Lady Sif, but I did tell you, Erin wouldn't want him here."

The young mortal reminded, head having fleeted after the other much younger mortal but never made a move to chase after her. Some relationship they shared.

Loki had sat silently through the whole ordeal of arriving at SHIELD, being shot glare after glare, until being bustled into a black vehicle with the driver turning out to be the SHIELD agent he had killed on the Helicarrier. That was a surprise indeed. Whatever unethical way SHIELD had found to bring him back, he did not much care to know, nor was he more thrilled at being brought to the home of these two siblings.

The younger had intrigued him, at first, but very quickly it had all bored him. Even with the threads removed by SHIELD agents he still remained silent, something he could tell was suspicious to Sif. The agony still pulsed in his lips, and any speech would cause weakness to befall his face.

"I do not wish to cause distress on either of you, and if there was some other way I would choose it."

"There _must_ be another family you can contact. Please Phil, Erin has suffered enough...and so have I."

"I know, and I understand how difficult this is. You think I wanted to see the crazed God that stabbed me with a sceptre? But you're the only person that knows how SHIELD works without strictly being a part of it."

"Only because Mum came home with bruises and wounds nearly every night! Erin doesn't know, and I'm not about to pull her into it, it's not fair on her."

The voices faded as his mind wandered.

He wanted to curse that devilish goddess and her threads. Curse Thor for the punishment. Curse these siblings for causing more strife. He did not want to be their guest, but the sooner the punishment was over and he played the good prisoner, the sooner he would return to his cell in Asgard. Which he would admit he missed already.

If he was ever to return to Asgard, he needed to earn trust from the younger mortal. The only question was how? And luckily the elder sister had unknowingly answered that for him. He turned to the sister now, and whatever she had been saying faded into silence as her bright eyes flickered with insecurity.

" _To prove_ -" his voice was cracked and hoarse; he coughed and started again. "To prove I pose no threat, there is something I can do which I think will benefit both of you." He finished.

He watched as all faces turned to him with a concoction of suspicion, eagerness and shock.

Not _everything_ he did was to cause trouble.

* * *

I had been hugging a photo frame with a picture of Mum and a baby Naomi when my door slowly opened silently. And in came Lady Sif followed by Loki. I really wanted to run and slam the door shut again, but wasn't given the chance as both stepped inside effortlessly.

I sat up, wiping my tears away with a drenched sleeve and before I knew it Loki was set on me with Lady Sif stood on guard. I had no time to react, Loki rushing forward so quickly that I could only lift my arms up to shield myself. A fluorescent green illuminated the room, and then it was gone just as quickly.

I was breathing rapidly, fearfully, and then like a train it hit me: I could _hear_ it. I heard it: the rush as I let out short gasp-like breaths.

My arms lowered, confusion distorted my features although Loki seemed just dulled as his not chained wrists held deep crimson marks where the metal had rubbed against the pale skin.

"I don't much care to suffer this miming lark."

Was all he said. And even though it was the least voice I wanted to hear...I couldn't help but find it beautiful. I couldn't refrain myself from jumping up and hugging him tightly, his lanky body tensed at the interaction. He had caused my mum's death, but he also cured my hearing, and for the brief moment I could forgive him.

"Thank you." I whispered in his ear, and I had forgotten how childlike and soft it was.

I saw a smile waver on Lady Sif's face.


	4. Delicious Delights

**Sorry for the wait, but it's finally here! Thank you for all the support!**

* * *

The mortal girl had pounced on him so suddenly, the immense pain erupting first from his lips and down his spine. It could only have been a cruel curse from the devilish witch Dagny, he swore a hundred times over that he would make her pay once he returned to Asgard, the glorious thought the only thing to refrain him from writhing.

She released him, eventually, and while two tears glistened down her cheeks he sensed it would be longer still before she trusted him. Perhaps the _magical cure_ would shorten it slightly. He stiffly stood tall, the mortal girl unable to contain herself as she grinned and giggled and made random noises just to hear it. His eyes glanced at Sif briefly, seeing a waver of emotion in those normally hard eyes of hers. Had she already grown attached? Out of character but possibly useful.

"Thank you Loki!" She shouted, jumping softly on the bed. "I never thought I'd ever-"

She halted, voice and jumping. Something had clarified in her little mind, fine brow creasing.

"Magic is real?" She questioned unexpectedly, cautiously seating herself on the bed again.

What was he meant to say? Spark her imagination would surely help his scheme, but the drawl of repetitive questions was perhaps not as worth it. There was no harm in answering the one.

"Yes, depending on your perception."

"My perception?"

He sighed irritably, but continued.

"Most mortals only explain and theorise things with science, while others, such as Asguardians, do the same but with magic. It's about perception, and which you choose to believe in." He said, hands motioning fluently as he spoke. Loki saw the glint in her blue eyes, that spark of wonder, one that mirrored Thor's when they were children. The memory a jab to his lungs and caused a choked breath to leave his poisoned lips.

Coldness spread through his demeanour like wildfire, dark circles suddenly gloomy around his own eyes as he turned to Sif.

"I thought you would have re-shackled me by now." Loki purred, but no mischievous smirk grew on his face, lips as straight as before. Sif glared at him, although she appeared to have expected it as she stormed over to him, boots clunking, and snapped the shackles around his reddened wrists. They were not as tight as before.

"You can stay," the mortal girl said in a plaintive whisper, "but no more cuffs, no more armour because it's weird...and no more trying to bribe me. I'm grateful, I'm beyond grateful, but people give children sweets so they stay quiet, this is the same." She finished, her way of thinking more intellectual than he had expected which could become a hindrance.

"As you wish, this is your home. We will honour your agreements, but the armour-" Sif said with uncertainty, but the mortal girl caught on and beckoned them out of her room and down the hall. With Sif behind him and the mortal girl in front, he couldn't help but feel outnumbered, his feet shuffling.

"Naomi won't mind, she's out grown most of these." The mortal girl explained, disbelief and awe still alive in her new found voice. They entered another room, a little smaller than the previous, and a shambles of objects. Clothes were folded atop the bed or strewn in different corners, bottles of perfume and various boxes of similar chemicals sat in front of a chipped vanity table, the mirror smeared with faded handprints. The mortal girl bypassed the mess easily, disappearing beneath one edge of the bed to reappear with a pile of various clothing in her weak arms.

"You need to leave." She told him evenly, and at first he only scowled, but upon realising the reason he sighed and lumbered out into the hallway. When he passed Sif, he noticed intrigue in her eyes. And he swore- yes, there was a shyness there too. It took hidden strength to stop himself from retorting.

Once outside he leaned against the nearest wall, the eventful day making him drowsy and drained. He closed his eyes, listening uninterestingly to the conversation shared between Sif and the mortal girl.

"I think you'd look nice in this."

"I feel exposed...is that normal with these garments?"

"I suppose for a lady it is, I mean, in Shakespeare's plays all the women wear these fancy clothes that sound horrible to walk in."

"Shakespeare?"

"He's a poet, a very old and very, _very_ famous play write."

"There is so much I have yet to learn about Midgard."

"Midgard? Is that what Earth's called?"

"To the nine realms, yes."

A pause followed, and Loki heard armour being shed from flesh.

"What happened to Loki's mouth?"

Loki's eyes grew large, startled, wanting to speak to remind them that he was only stood outside, unsupervised. But his throat became thick, and any noise that would have escaped would be hoarse and unintelligible.

"It was a witch," he heard Sif say, hearing rage in the depths of her tone, "she tricked men into allowing her into the cell chambers. She sewed them shut with thread."

"That's horrible. _No one_ deserves that." The mortal girl murmured, but seemingly loud enough so Loki intentionally heard it.

It became silent after that, except for the rustle of clothing and clanking of armour. It wasn't long before the two emerged, the mortal girl almost presenting Sif, and Loki was quite amused but enchanted. The strong armour was replaced with flimsy fabric, a hooded red jacket and a black t-shirt beneath, and to finish with slashed trousers and what appeared to be strong black boots. The outfit made her appear mortal, but the long waves of black hair and hardened eyes that had seen many battles and bloodbaths still remained.

His gaze fleeted away when the mortal girl made a coughing noise in the back of her throat.

"A change I must say." He said simply.

"Sorry, but we don't have any men's clothes." The mortal girl murmured sheepishly, and his eyes lowered to find her head was bowed to the floor. He frowned.

"It's only clothing," he snorted, "I can magic my own when Sif _finally_ removes these shackles."

"It's not that. I just thought-" She stopped herself, face flushed, head returning to floor. She had been given her hearing back, she could finally hear her own voice and others around her, and yet she would not speak further. Speechless himself, Loki looked to Sif, believing she may have something to say, but she seemed as lost as he was. Mortal children. No different than Asguardian children and even more complex.

Eventually she looked up again, pressing a half smile onto her lips as she lead them back downstairs. when the three of them entered the room with the fireplace, Phil was stood far off in a corner with a phone strapped to his ear. The other older mortal...Naomi...had been sat on the edge of the sofa, gnawing at her nails. When she looked up to see the three of them, her eyes flicked between the young mortal and Loki, asking the unspoken question.

"Yeah, he did." The mortal girl answered for him, and tears began to brim Naomi's eyes as a hand clasped over her mouth. Joyous chokes of laughter echoed behind her hand, lunging forward to wrap her arms around the mortal girl, squeezing the life out of her. During the embrace, Naomi blinked furiously at him, but she mouthed a sweetened _thank you_. He nodded his head shortly.

"I'm sorry about this Naomi," Phil said, long since abandoned the phone call to beam his smile at the two sisters. "But it's been a hefty week. I trust everything is good?" He directed at the the mortal girl, and when she nodded her head he was satisfied. "Then I'm good, keep an eye on _all_ of them Lady Sif." He finished with a wink, Sif replying with a small smile, and then he was off out the door (not until he shot one dangerous look at Loki) and disappeared with the black van down the dirt path away from the house.

"What do we do now?" The mortal girl asked innocently. All eyes rested on Naomi, who squirmed and stuttered.

"Erm...I'm not entirely sure." She replied, face still a picture of light joy at hearing her little sister speak so sweetly. "I suppose, I have a cake in the fridge." She shrugged.

"Yes, cake!" The mortal girl exclaimed, grinning madly at the confused faces from Loki and Sif. "You have had cake before?"

"Maybe not in the same context as Midgard _cake_." Loki answered on Sif's behalf.

"Then you _need_ to try it." The mortal girl insisted. "And those cuffs need to go." She added, directing it at Sif.

"I don't know Erin," Naomi said uncertainly, "what if..."

 _They still don't trust me. It's not exactly a surprise._

"I can assure you, I am no harm to you or your sister." Loki repeated, something he felt he would need to get used to. Naomi stared at him, hoping to see through any games he was playing, eyes squinting but softened after a time.

"How do I know you're not lying?" She challenged.

"Because I don't _want_ to be here, anymore than _you_ want me here. As long as I serve my sentence without mischief, I get to return to my cell, and you never have to hear from me again."

Naomi gazed at him for a long time, suspicion clearly written over her features, but there was a lack of hatred. She stood up, lifting the younger girl with her, and walked up to him. The shortened distance made his whole body flinch, but she showed no sign of discomfort.

"I had to _watch_ you destroy New York. I had to watch, _knowing_ , that mum would be involved somehow. I was working a shift in the cafe I work at, and then suddenly these _monsters_...aliens were pointing this outer space weapons at us. One of them had a device, like a bomb, and all I could think was that Erin was alone at school. She could have been dead, mum could've been dead, and I _would_ have been dead if Captain America hadn't saved us." She spoke with fire, with venom, with every ounce of pain. It was intimating, he had to admit, and she still kept accusing. "Because of you I have spent the last three years trying to be mum, trying to be a mum to my little sister. You have _no idea_ how difficult it is to be two people, and I mess up everyday." Tears began to collect and spill out of her eyes.

"But I forgive you."

He froze.

"I forgive you for...everything."

With a sniff and a quick wipe of her eyes she strolled passed him, her pattering footsteps fading into the kitchen. He couldn't speak, couldn't apprehend what had just played out before him, and it seemed everyone else was just as speechless as he was. Most of all the mortal girl, mouth agape with glistening eyes, staring after her sister with... _awe_? He felt as if those threads were now being forced into every inch of his body, piercing through flesh, and yet he was numb to the pain. Something about her expression, something foreign but familiar. He almost envied it.

"Anyone joining me for cake?" A warbled voice called, and like a moth to a flame, they followed.

* * *

Pietro had spent the next few days obediently in that white room, having very little contact with anyone except for the medical personnel. Even the smiling agent had left urgently with a different matter. Those few days were _slow_ , but ironically he preferred it that way. If he sprinted, it only disorientated him, made worse if he even attempted to eat, the medical personnel bringing him rations of food everyday; he could keep nothing down.

It was all because of the nightmares.

They came every night, and he awoke in shivers and sweat. They revolved around that moment. When the bullets ripped through his skin. Dark blood seeping from the holes. And then Ultron's sinister voice erupted from his own mouth, directed at the old man.

 _ **The world will still scream**_

He would wake to bright lights, the agents leaving them on to observe him. It must have been quite a show to see him petrified.

The days turned into weeks, lonely weeks, the times Wanda visited were strained. Something felt... _disconnected_. Before they were closer than just twins, they knew the other's thoughts, knew what they would do in less than a heartbeat. Now, there was mostly pained silence between them. His _death_ had cut something, like a linked chain had been shattered, the two ends unable to fit together.

Eventually he began to decline the visits, unable to see her so sad and frustrated anymore. He didn't look much better. His stubbles grown longer into a small bush around his chin, his silver-tinged hair falling to obscure his eyes, a hand having to push it away constantly.

One day while he was fiddling with his fingers, the door opened and the smiling agent appeared. Relief lifted his gloomy features, sitting up straight as the agent walked towards him, that smile exactly the same as before.

"Apparently you've not been doing too well." He began, understanding crossing his features. "So I thought I'd take you out somewhere, helped me a lot after I died."

"It wasn't the same." Pietro uttered.

"I got stabbed in the heart by a war-hungry maniac. I'm the only person who has even the littlest understanding of what you're going through." The agent countered, but Pietro could onto shake his head.

"I should stay here..." He said, his voice fading into silence. The nightmares had drained him, any motion was tiring.

"The nightmares will stop. They will. But you have to distract yourself from what happened first." The agent replied, and Pietro's dimmed blue eyes focused on him, pleading for more ways to make them stop. The agent smiled thoughtfully.

"How about the park? It can be a magical place."


	5. Elder Experience

**I'm not that late for once with this post! Yay!**

 **but honestly, thank you for the patience and amazing support. Already over a thousand views! That's mind blowing that it's gotten that far within four chapters. So here's the fifth, longest one so far and a little more Pietro but I'm trying to keep his parts minor until a certain part.**

 **Thinking of quite a few pairings, but not the ones you might think ;).**

 **With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

The park buzzed with small children sprinting over the well-kept grass, the dark colour such an oddity in the centre of New York. Mothers gossiped and giggled avidly together, hearing magnified as their children bustled around them, playing with a ball or a frisbee or even just themselves in a pile on game. The blazing sun above made the ice cream sellers smile greedily, little children crowded around their small karts, eyes gleaming at the sight of the cold treat as beads of sweat slid down their flushed faces.

Pietro watched it all intensely from his hunched over spot on a bench. His arms hung low, fingers twitching, as he half-listened to the muffled pep talk of the smiling agent next to him. It was something about dying, a little about moving on, a speech about dark places and finally about nightmares. He went on about that for a long time, long enough for Pietro to drift away and watch the children playing.

 _We used to play_. He thought depressively. _In the park...with other children...with mum and dad_.

He witnessed two brothers in a playful bawl, rolling and cackling in the grass.

 _That bomb. That_ _ **damn**_ _bomb. It ended it all_.

His fingers scrunched into fists, knuckles whitening like solidified snow.

 _Mum and dad would be here. Wanda and I wouldn't have signed up for Strucker's experiments. We'd be_ _ **normal**_ _._

His whole body shook as he suppressed the rage that coiled like a spring inside his head, ready to snap at any second.

 _I wouldn't be_ _ **damaged**_.

"Damn Strucker! Damn Stark! Damn Ultron! Damn them all to hell!" Pietro erupted, a wail of a curse that made a lot of playing children and gossiping mothers go fearfully still. Pietro breathed heavily, but was unable to supply enough air as his tear-glazed eyes saw all the people staring at him oddly. His breaths quickly turned into gasps, a face of pale terror as finally the weeks of silence was released from his system. He did not feel any less damaged, he hadn't reached a clarity that the agent, Coulson, said would take a long time unless he really tried.

A hand bit sharply into his shoulder, the muscle crumbling under the grip as Pietro slumped further against his thighs. Tears spilled onto the grass, mimicking early morning dew. Now that the flood gates were open, Pietro couldn't stop, words slipping unknowingly from his lips.

"They didn't deserve to die! I should've - I was _meant_ to do something, they were my parents and I let them die! We were kids. We had no one. We were kids..." He faded into nothing but madman murmuring as Coulson never loosened his grip, waiting, listening, giving what he never asked for when he needed it. Sometimes the bottling was too much, you had to let some water spill, otherwise it would drown you.

"You _did_ do something," Coulson insisted softly, "you saved your sister. You saved all those people and fought alongside The Avengers, you _are_ an Avenger. You sacrificed yourself for Barton, for a boy you had never even met. Pietro, you're a hero, and every hero has a tragic backstory...you just have to learn to let it be your wisdom, your shield."

Pietro heard his words but denied them.

"We were the enemy, we helped that-"

"But you made it _right_. You chose to help stop Ultron and without you Barton would never have returned to his family."

Pietro sucked in a shuddering breath. He sat up, eyes ever-so-slightly brighter.

"The old man h-has a family?" He questioned in a childish pitch.

Coulson instantly gripped onto the information, boldly stepping away from the script and pursued the new angle.

"He named his kid after you. Nathaniel Pietro Barton, fast little bugger." Coulson said, pride dripping from his words as if it were his own children. Pietro couldn't help but be speechless, a short, hollow chuckle left his lips as it sunk in. The old man had named his child after _him_. Even though he'd been such a pain, been the enemy, teased him whenever he could. He had made a legacy, for him. No one had ever done that. Never. And the happy glow that came from that news sparked a little life back into his eyes, just for that moment, on that park bench...the nightmares were forgotten.

"Do want to meet them? Would it help?" Coulson asked tentatively. Pietro felt that wave of happiness crash again, but it was mixed with nervousness as he pictured the last look on the old man's face, that confusion, that shock...if he met him again, would that shock be worth it?

"No," he whispered, firmly, "but maybe...once I'm-"

"Fixed?"

"Yes."

"You're not broken, Pietro."

Pietro drank those last words in, let them echo inside his head on repeat, hoping that one day he would believe them.

* * *

Loki watched the pair of siblings chatter joyfully. He said joyfully, there was some restraint that made the talk a little more solemn. They were sat at the small dining table at the back part of the living room, away from him, but he noticed the elder Naomi glance at him every so often, to check he hadn't scarpered anywhere. There would be no point, wherever he went Sif would find him, if SHIELD didn't first. No. He decided to enjoy the small amount of freedom he had with the shackles gone, and he did so by reading a midgardian book. The book itself was quite a bore, some _brilliant_ man supposedly explaining the theory of everything, there were a few valid points, but otherwise he was more distracted by the sisters.

Mainly the younger Erin.

No longer were there frowns or sadness that marked her face, smiles and grins so bright it reminded him of a brazier flame. Just because he had fixed her hearing. Midgard children were quite bizarre to him. He would not deny there had been a spark of pride when she had so easily trusted him, well, enough to make her sister warn him. There was still much to do, but for now he was content that they allowed him to move almost freely around the house.

It had been a few weeks since his first day, and he'd grown accustomed to the Midgardian wear. He had magicked a simple emerald green t-shirt and plain blue trousers, which he had heard Midgardian's call _denim jeans_. His feet had been bare at first, until he felt the agonising pain of stepping on a small devilish block, and hence forth had worn black shoes. His lips had lost the purplish bruise, beginning to heal enough that his once slim smirk was almost recognisable again. The pain and vengeance was still drilled into his mind, he never forgot that, no matter whether the scars healed.

"Has someone grown fond of our hosts?"

Sif's smug tone made him realise his eyes were not on the words in the book, but had been gazing at Naomi.

"No, I'm merely figuring out how I can kill all of you." He sneered, but Sif didn't even bat an eyelid.

"You do that, and Thor will never let you return to Asgard." She reminded, but her eyes portrayed play, something that caught him off-guard.

"Has Lady Sif grown a sense of humour?" He asked sarcastically, before his eyes moved back to the book, irritated Sif had seen him staring. She had sat beside him on the sofa for a long silent time, the laughter of the siblings echoing frustratingly inside his head. And yet all he could think was that _he_ made them laugh, _he_ made them happy, and it swelled so much that it disgusted him.

"You can admit you care for them." Sif spoke finally, and the words were the final straw as Loki slammed the book shut and glared at her, emerald eyes aflame. She didn't seem surprised by the action, nor trembled at the rage. He wanted to shout and bawl and scream that he did not care for them at all, that it was all a ploy, that he had wanted to kill them from the start. He had always been a good liar. So much that he convinced himself sometimes. He was about to retort when he realised the laughing had stopped, a cold silence in the air.

He turned, and big blue eyes stared at him with such _innocence_.

 _Curse_ _you Sif_. He hissed inwardly. _And curse myself for it being the truth_.

He did care for them, ever so slightly, and he loathed it.

"May I be excused?" He asked through gritted teeth, and Naomi did not dare say no, nodding her head. He jumped up and stormed out of the house, refraining from smashing the front door to pieces as he stepped out into the warm sun, the sizzle of his pale skin ignored. He walked for several paces before he realised he was being followed, the nimble person almost silent on the luscious grass. But eventually he saw the shadow moving on the ground, the sun against the person. He swivelled round, the quickness making Naomi stop abruptly. She stood still, staring at him, searching for something again like before but couldn't find it.

"I'm going to be recruited into SHIELD." She finally spoke, voice strong and adamant.

His brow furrowed, eyes just as questioning. She swallowed and continued.

"I'd been thinking about it ever since mum's funeral. I don't know...I guess I thought I'd should carry on her legacy, being the oldest, and I had tried before but mum had stopped me every time I brought it up. But now she can't. There's nothing to stop me." She said, an amount of excitement in her words, and he could not understand _why_ she was opening up to him.

"You would risk your sister being alone?" He said, almost judging her. She could only laugh hollowly.

"She's got Phil. He's pretty much been a dad after since ours died when Erin was a baby. And she has you."

The added made his blood run cold, fingers coiling into fists, angry that he had made his care known.

"I hate that you're the man that has been in her life the longest. She trusts you. You may not see it but I do, and when you leave...it's going to kill her." Her tears became sobs, uncontrollable, as a rough finger pointed at her own chest. "And _I'm_ the one that will have to fix her. And so far I've done a shitty job of it!"

She stopped now, the venom in her words reaching an end as her mind clarified. She wiped the tears away, eyes dull and exhausted. Depressed.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have put all of that on you."

A long arduous pause followed.

"You are right." Loki said quietly. "But you have done what you can, you cannot be a mother and a sister. Erin will see that, she is smart enough."

A small smile appeared and faded on her face. Loki saw. Perhaps for the first time.

* * *

 _Madness swirled in his unnatural blue eyes, pacing that glass cage over and over again as he waited for the heroes to slowly tear themselves apart. He thought of Barton, of his family, of what he had willingly told him about Agent Romanoff. What a bloodthirsty specimen she was, an intriguing one, and she was the one he waited for. She would come to him, eventually, her duty to Barton would be sure of it._

 _He paced a few more minutes, and then he felt it, a presence. He smiled wickedly to himself._

 _"There are not many people that-" He spoke as he turned, but stopped, shocked to see it was not a fiery red head. It was an agent. A blonde agent. Golden curls tied up loosely in a shambolic pony tail, the curves of her SHIELD uniform wasn't as defined as some of the younger agents. Although earthly brown eyes were hardened, there was something familiar, something nearer_ _ **disappointment**_ _._

 _"You are not Agent Romanoff." He stated, seething. The agent tilted her head a little, experience in ever movement she made as she stalked forward._

 _"No," she agreed, "but don't think that makes me any less dangerous."_

 _He laughed._

 _"What have I to fear from an elder?"_

 _"Wisdom, experience...I've been around the block longer than Nick Fury has had one eye." She shrugged, but he just could not see the killer in her, not like some of the other agents he had seen, nothing near Fury's monsters. No, he could not place what he saw in this agent, but it was not a danger._

 _"Then I do not doubt your skill. But what I cannot fathom is why you came to me." He said with a glee in his tone, matching her steps forward until he was practically against the glass, his breathing appearing like fog. The thin wrinkles around her eyes were darkened by the vibrant lighting. The earthy eyes shone with similar sap that trickled down the trees in Asgard, how it used to seem aflame when the sunset drifted above the slender tubes of the monumental castle; the memory was a stab in his transparent heart._

 _"To perhaps make you reconsider your plans for world domination." She said, with hinted mockery though she dare not let it linger far from subtlety._

 _He leaned back, the stupidity of this wise elder was truly unbelievable._

 _"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" He sneered, offering her his time, and there was very little of it once Agent Romanoff confronted him._

 _"The children." She said with stone. "My children, other agents' children, the children of the world all live down there. Let them live in their imagination, don't ruin it with a war. Children have never emerged unchanged by it."_

 _The way she spoke was persuasive, and emotional, and care was put into every syllable. His dark face stared at her, but his eyes were glazed by memories of a mother teaching her Asgardian son magic._

 _ **No**_ _. He thought firmly._ _ **I'm a jotun, a jotun runt. No prince of Asgard**_ _._

 _"Even gods were children once. What was it like, your first taste of war? Unpleasant? But you grew to accept it, you grew to understand that sometimes there isn't always a peace option. Please, there_ _ **is**_ _a peace option this time, stop before it's too late." She pleaded softly, placing a smooth palm on the glass. He gazed at it for a long time, picturing another, but more slender and skilful in the art of movement. His fist smashed against it with a loud bang that rattled the metallic structure of the room. The palm immediately flinched away, her wide earthy eyes staring fearfully at his crazed blue._

 _"Its already too late for the lot of you! Your children will die screaming over your own corpse! And I will be sure to pay them a special visit before the Chitauri slaughter them!" He snarled, hatred engulfing those horrifyingly unnatural blue eyes. But some hint of green swirled, a small timid voice spoke as it drowned._

 _ **Please, help me!**_

 _He had pushed the voice away, locked it away in the depths of his altered memories as he watched the agent shy far away from the glass cage._

 _"How does that play into your_ _ **peace option**_ _?" He growled as his hand slid down the glass with a short swipe before he turned his back on her, glaring hatefully at the white floor._

 _"My name is Theresa Amanda Carter."_

 _He turned around to face her once more, confused by the unexplainable discomfort by simply her tone._

 _"Because when the guilt sets in, and it will. In a few months, a few years, maybe even a hundred. I want you to remember my name, and remember that you made two innocent girls orphans." She said in an unwavering tone that crawled up his spine. "And then I want you to think of the billions of people mourning...I hope it haunts you for the_ _ **rest of your life**_ _." She hissed quietly, a small smile pressing onto her lips, just to disappear seconds later. And then walked away without another word, but her presence never left him after that. Paranoia set in regularly in that glass cage, waiting, for her voice to sound again, but she never returned._

 _ **Theresa Amanda Carter.**_

* * *

"Carter" He muttered in horror, the blazing sun reddening his pale face. Naomi creased her expression, the word not so horrifying to her.

"Yes...that's mine and Erin's surname."

What he had said. All those terrible things he had blurted out to her. By Odin...fate had brought him to his ghosts.

"You- you _can't_ be her children!" He shouted adamantly.

"What are you talking about?" Naomi asked in a shrill, but not as hysterical as Loki as a hand flashed up to his forehead, picturing that wise woman through the glass of the cage.

All those terrible words...

He felt it.

Felt that feeling.

Felt it bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

A caterwaul cacophony of _I told you so_ circled on repeat in his mind.

What he felt...pumping into his blackened heart...was guilt.

 _Theresa Amanda Carter._

 _You have beaten me_. _Even in your grave, you have won the match_.


	6. Time Is A Healer

**I am so sorry it's been so long since I updated this.**

 **What happened was I wrote this, kept looking at it and hated it, tried to rewrite it but ended up deleting the second one as it was worse and then I complete lately forgot to upload it and so now we are here.**

 **thank you so much for the support!**

 **With that done, on with the chapter...**

* * *

Loki silently watched Naomi clean the plates from the kitchen doorway. Erin had gone to bed earlier in the night, her young mind unable to stay active for too long. He had heard her murmur to Naomi, asking for him to put her to bed, he had pretended not hear and Naomi understood. He could not, would not, not with Theresa Amanda Carter invading his mind. That face was all he saw in the two siblings, and it _ached._

It had been months since he had slipped that name, and not once had Naomi said anything about it. Of course at first she had pestered, but when he walked away she had instantly stopped trying, and since had spoken very little to him at all. Her recruitment into SHIELD had been mentioned even less, he wasn't - was not quite sure if she was even accepted or not. The agent had been and gone a few times, and some hushed arguments had been shared between the two, Naomi becoming more frustrated every time. The agent was trying to keep her away from it all, smart really, if only Naomi saw it that way.

Loki always found himself fascinated by her movements, even the simpler things, the way she held the plate firmly and yet delicately. A mixture of strong and fragile...that was what Naomi Carter was.

"I've been thinking." Naomi spoke, Loki's head popping up cautiously. "I thought maybe the name Carter surprised you because of my grandma Peggy, maybe SHIELD had mentioned her some time. But it's not, is it? It's my mum, you met her."

Naomi turned on him, and he found he couldn't meet those blue eyes of hers.

"When?"

He did not answer.

"Tell me _when_." She demanded, but it only sparked his defence.

"Do not command anything from me mortal!" He roared, expecting her to shrink away, but it only made her storm towards him with electric blue eyes. A thunderous lightening circled in them, the crackling sound he imagined was nothing compared to Thor when he held his hammer.

"I will if it's about my family," She responded calmly, "and I don't want you blurting it out to Erin."

"I wouldn't."

"Really?" She scoffed in doubt.

"Do you think I am such a monster I would do that to a child?"

"After what you did in New York, I'm not sure of anything anymore."

His jaw tightened, but his eyes faltered their intensity, memories of screaming and flaming buildings pulsating behind them. He sighed, tiredness making his eyelids heavier.

"We talked once. While I was captured by SHIELD she came to me, trying to persuade me away from my purpose. I said things I should not have said, and in turn she told me her name, so that it would haunt me...and it has. You and Erin are my ghosts, my demons, and whether it was done purposefully by SHIELD or not doesn't matter. I am ashamed of what I did." Loki confessed, and he felt some of the weight he had carried since New York was lifted. Still the fear of Thanos kept him from truly being weightless, and the fear no longer settled around himself, but those around him too. Thor, Sif, even Erin and Naomi could be at risk when Thanos came for him.

He had been in his own clouded mind when a smooth hand pressed against his cheek. Freezing. At first he flinched away, but when the hand travelled with him, he sunk into it and breathed out a shuddering breath. The hand trembled against his skin.

"For the god of lies, you speak truthfully often enough."

Why were her eyes so hard?

"Lies are just altered truths."

"That's your problem, you're scared of the truth."

Why did she forgive him for everything he had done without question?

"Not scared. Truths just cause more pain."

"Pain is good sometimes, it teaches us we're not immortal."

The guilt crashed into him in formidable waves.

He gripped her wrist and yanked it, the ice that had gradually spread over half of his face had become unbearable. With the tender fingertips gone, the ice melted away instantly and the discomfort drained away. The moment was lost. He was lost. Staring into her dazzling blue eyes and picturing how much brighter they could have been if he had not-

" _What are you_?" He whispered. Some madness glinted in his eyes.

Naomi shied away from him now, uncomfortable as her eyes darted around and she gripped the rim of her shirt with both hands.

"I'm just human." She said, a nervous laugh escaping her throat. But he was adamant, something was wrong, edging closer towards her.

"I will not ask you again," he said, voice warbling with suppressed impatience, "what are you?"

He had her backed up against the wall now. Her breathing was short, erratic, shrinking under his terrifying gaze. She had been so strong, so demanding and not fearful of him, but now she cowered like a completely different person.

"Just stop, you're scaring me." She pleaded, but he ignored her begs. He roughly laced his slender hands around her arms, sharp nails digging into the fabric. She cried out a little and then turned it into a whimper. " _Please_." She choked hopelessly.

"Tell me what you are. You're her are you not? That witch with the threads? You manufactured all of this for your owns ends, why else would Thor send me here. It's just one big lie. A sick game for all to mock me. No mortal would forgive me that easily! Not a monster like me!" He raved, all manor of logical explanation leaving him as he pieced the wrong ideas together.

"I'm not a witch! I'm human! Human, human, _human_!" She screamed at him, trying desperately to make him see sense as she felt a trickle of blood dribble down one arm. He flared his nostrils and shook his head, slamming her once against the wall, her body dazed as it slightly became limp in his arms.

Those blue eyes...

He released her, and watched as she fell hard down the wall to the floor. Her sobbing echoed through the house. His heart was beating wildly, inspecting his hands as if to find them drenched in crimson, but finding them clean and slender as ever. He stared at her, this cowering mess on the floor as she tightly pulled her knees up to her face.

 _Strong and fragile_.

Golden hair hid her head entirely. He had to see her face, he _had_ to.

"I am a monster. A monster should _never_ be forgiven." He stuttered, feeling the soft prick of a tear sliding down his cheek, sizzling the skin where her hand had been. He knelt down to her, but she scurried into a tighter ball and flinched when he raised a hand. It shattered his heart. He had cared too much, had gotten too close. The months spent with the siblings had made him so accustomed to their company. They had even gone out into the city a few times, to small restaurants or the great park, nobody recognising him without his godly attire, and it had been such a pleasant experience. Too pleasant. This was meant to be a punishment after all.

"You think your a monster."

The voice was broken, bitterly venomous.

Naomi had looked up, eyes raw red as a cracked chuckle escaped her throat.

"So what if you killed strangers? You didn't know them, didn't love them. If you knew what I had done-" she broke out into pained moans of despair, which lasted for a few minutes before she stopped herself and wiped her eyes. In this time he had saddled up beside her, back against the wall as he listened and hung off her every word, lips parted.

"After dad died mum had to work. So I agreed to take care of Erin. She wasn't a handful, but one night, she just wouldn't stop _crying_. I tried everything, in the end I strapped her into her pram and took her out for a walk. She still cried on and on." Naomi paused for breath, eyes clouded. "I don't know, my hands just let go of the handles, and I...I walked away. I abandoned my own sister. I got as far as the corner and realised what I'd done, I sprinted back but she was gone. The minutes felt like hours, I searched, I screamed her name, I asked everyone if they'd seen her. Nothing. I would never forgive myself if someone had kidnaped her, but then Phil turned up pushing her pram and I don't think I had ever been so happy to see her in my life. I had to tell mum what had happened. She slapped me and sent me to my room. The pain that slap caused made me realise how much worse it would have been if Erin had been taken. And how much I loved her."

Loki had listened intently, not giving any expressions of disgust or horror. When she looked at him, eyes bloodshot and filled with self-hate, he gave only a smile in return.

"If you are anything Naomi Carter, it is a brave warrior."

He helped her gently to her feet, and planted a friendly kiss on her hand. She wiped the remainder of her tears away, a blossom of magenta streaking over her cheeks at his affection.

"I forgave you because I can't hate you as much as I hate myself, and because if I didn't do it it would be a long few months." She said with a small smile, a weightless smile. She murmured something about sleep and went to go upstairs. She stopped at the bottom and turned back to him, a glow to her features.

"You're not a monster Loki."

* * *

I sat up in bed, listening, worried that it had gone so silent for the last couple of minutes. The raised voices had woken me, childhood memories returning, the familiar pull of the sheets up to my nose as the room was filled with whispering darkness. A shine of light peaked from under the door, until footsteps came closer and a shadow grew and blocked out a quarter of the light. With a gasp I dove back down, the sheets resting on my head. The door opened quietly. I sucked in a breath, the warm texture irritating beneath the sheets.

A mass creaked the bed, my body being pushed down with it as a shadowed hand lifted the sheets from off my face. I hid further into the pillow.

"Erin, stop playing games." Naomi moaned, voice low and exhausted. I sighed as I pushed myself up and twiddled my fingers in my lap, hair sticking up in odd places. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough" I replied shortly. Naomi gave me a look so I continued. "I didn't hear any words, just angry voices." I mumbled. I was surprised by an arm wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me towards her chest, the closeness was so inviting I couldn't help myself from burying my head into her chest, the heart beat rapid yet rhythmic. I missed this.

"It was nothing to worry about, I promise."

"That's what you _always_ say."

"And I _always_ mean it." Naomi countered, a claw thrusted into my side as I squealed, turning into fits of giggles as Naomi toppled on top of me and her claws found every weak point. I screamed for her to stop in between cries of laughter, but to no avail, the game finishing when we were both panting. A huge grin on my face, all the worry melted away and I felt happy again, more happy than I had felt in three years.

"I miss this," I blurted out, "I miss my funny sister."

Just for a moment my sister was back, and then just as swiftly she was gone within a sentence, her face ageing as the smile became a frown. She always looked older when she frowned.

"It's time to get some sleep." She said quietly, leaving the room even more exhausted than she had entered. But before she closed the door, she turned to me, a fading smile upturning her frown. "For the record...I miss her too." And then she was gone. I sat there silently in the dark, listening to her shuffling footsteps until they were silent also, then whipped around and snatched Naomi's mobile phone from under the mattress. I instantly typed in her coded password, skimmed through the names and finally clicked call and placed the cold technology to my ear, the sensation both exciting and odd. The gentle beeping became tiresome, until a happier voice spoke through it.

 _"Naomi? Has something happened? For the last time I will not recommend you to Fury."_

"It's not Naomi, it's Erin." I whispered, confused by the added sharpness to Phil's tone.

A pause.

 _"Oh, Erin, why are you calling me?"_

He sounded cornered. Whatever he had meant before with this Fury was clearly something he didn't want me to know about; there was little he could do about that. I bit my lip, suddenly not so brave as I heard what sounded like another voice through the line, Phil addressed them.

 _"Sorry about this, do you want me to take this outside?"_

I heard a muffled _no_.

" _You still there, Erin?"_

"Yes...um. I wanted to know if you could meet me tomorrow, at the park? By the memorial?"

 _"I don't see why not, can I ask why?"_

"It's classified."

Phil chuckled softly.

 _"That's usually my line. I'm sure I can arrange it, what time?"_

"Twelve thirty?"

"Sure...is it alright if I bring a friend along? It's become a bit of a routine for him."

I hesitated for a moment, wary of this friend, but if he was a friend of Phil he had to be harmless.

"Okay. Bye."

 _"See you tomorrow."_

I cut the connection off and hid the phone back under my mattress, knowing I'd have to put it back while Naomi showered for work. It would be more difficult with Loki and Lady Sif lurking about, but I needed to see Phil, it was the only way. But now I had another problem: how exactly was I going to get to the park? I had never gone on my own before, always scared to, but I couldn't go with Naomi. Lady Sif would say something to Naomi if I asked her, and Loki...Loki was the god of lies, he could lie to Naomi easily.

I yawned loudly, the plot holes for my plan would have to wait until tomorrow morning. I rolled over and closed my eyes, wishing for sleep to come quickly.

* * *

"Who was that?" Pietro asked quickly, suddenly distrusting as Coulson placed his phone back in his pocket. Coulson only smiled.

"A friend. She's helping someone I know right now, who knows, maybe she can help you too." He replied cheerfully, but Pietro shook his head and lay back onto his bed, the white ceiling becoming increasingly bland. He wanted to sprint again, he wanted to race, he wanted to be with other people. And yet, something still nagged in his mind, immobilising him from this desire

"Who is she?"

"That's classified."

Pietro chuckled half-heartily, but couldn't ignore the allure of this secret friend. To be honest, wasn't everything around Coulson a secret?

"I look forward to meet her." He said dryly, closing his eyes and fought the nightmares that plagued in the darkness. He thought he was winning, until footsteps left and the door closed, suddenly the darkness engulfed him as his mind cowered. So _close_. Coulson's words from the park had helped a great deal, but it just wasn't enough, and he shuddered as the darkness beneath his eyelids echoed with Ultron's chilling robotic laugh.

 _Someday. Someday I will win_.

Pietro vowed as the lights switched off in unison, leaving him even more vulnerable to the bleak blackness, the base silent.

Silent.

All except a lioness's prowl through the corridors...


End file.
